Happy to leave the moonbeam behind, I let the air carry me down the rest of the stairs. Once we were on terra firma, my warmblood feet covered the remaining distance to the front door.
A brush of frost on my cheek, the indication of a vampire’s glance, told me that Matthew had spotted our arrival. He was standing in the open doorway with Ysabeau. The play of silver and shadow made his cheekbones stand out and his hair appear even darker while, through some strange alchemy, the same light made Ysabeau look more golden. There was dirt on her tawny-colored leggings, and her white shirt was torn where a tree branch had snagged it. She acknowledged me with a nod, her breath ragged. Ysabeau had been running—fast and hard.
The children sensed the strangeness of the moment. Instead of greeting their grandmother with their usual enthusiasm, they clung to me tightly, tucking their heads into the curves of my neck as if to hide from whatever mysterious darkness was impinging on the house.
“I was talking to Freyja. Before we finished, Marcus said he was going to the village,” Ysabeau explained, a splinter of panic in her tone. “But Alain was concerned, so we followed him. Marcus seemed fine, at first. But then he bolted.”
“Marcus ran away from Sept-Tours?” It didn’t seem possible. Marcus adored Ysabeau, and she had specifically requested he stay with her over the summer.
“He took a path west, and we assumed he was coming here, but something told me to stay with him.” Ysabeau drew another serrated breath. “Then Marcus turned north, toward Montlu?on.”
“Toward Baldwin?” My brother-in-law had a house there, built long ago when the area was known simply as Lucius’s Mountain.
“No. Not toward Baldwin. Toward Paris.” Matthew’s eyes darkened.
Ysabeau nodded. “He was not running away. He was running back—to Phoebe.”
“Something went wrong,” I said, stunned. Everybody had assured me that Phoebe would make the transition from warmblooded human to vampire without a problem. So much care had been taken, so many arrangements made.
Sensing my rising concern, Philip began to squirm and asked to be put down.
“Freyja said it all went according to plan. Phoebe’s a vampire now.” Matthew lifted Philip from my arms and put him on the floor beside me. “Stay with Diana and the children, Maman. I’ll go after Marcus and find out what’s wrong.”
“Alain is outside,” Ysabeau said. “Take him with you. Your father believed in having a second pair of eyes in such a situation.”
Matthew kissed me. Like most of his farewells, it held a note of ferocity, as though to remind me to not let my guard down while he was gone. He smoothed Becca’s hair and pressed his lips far more gently to her forehead.
“Be careful,” I murmured, more out of habit than actual concern.
“Always,” Matthew replied, giving me one last, long look before he turned to go.
* * *
—
AFTER THE EXCITEMENT of their grandmother’s arrival, the children took nearly an hour to get settled back to sleep. Wide awake myself with nerves and unanswered questions, I went down to the kitchen. There, as expected, I found Marthe and Ysabeau.
Usually, the sprawling set of connected rooms was one of my favorite places. It was unfailingly warm and cozy, with the old enameled iron range fired up and ready to bake something delicious and bowls of fresh fruit and produce waiting for Marthe to transform them into a gourmet feast. This morning, however, the room felt dark and cold, in spite of the illuminated sconces and the colorful Dutch tiles that decorated the walls.
“Of all the things I dislike about being married and mated to a vampire, waiting at home for news has to be the worst.” I plunked myself onto one of the stools that surrounded the enormous, pitted wooden table that was the center of gravity in this domestic sphere. “Thank God for mobile phones. I can’t imagine what it was like with nothing but handwritten messages.”
“None of us liked it.” Marthe put a steaming mug of tea before me, along with a croissant filled with almond paste and dusted with powdered sugar.
“Heaven,” I said, sniffing the aroma of dark leaves and nutty sweetness that rose from the cup.
“I should have gone with them.” Ysabeau had made no effort to twist her hair back into place or remove the smudge of dirt from her cheek. It wasn’t like her to be anything less than impeccable.
“Matthew wanted you here,” Marthe said, dusting flour on the table with a practiced gesture. She removed a lump of dough from a nearby bowl and began to knead it with the heels of her hands.